


Jared Padalecki vs the internet

by atimi (bertee)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Internet, M/M, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:45:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/atimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most of the time, Jared really, really loves the internet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jared Padalecki vs the internet

Most of the time, Jared really, really loves the internet.

Not in the same way he loves his family, obviously. Or his dogs, or his friends, or the grumpy little pouty face Jensen pulls on the mornings that Jared wakes him up, but it's love nonetheless. He spends time with the internet and feels a lot of sincere affection towards it, and if the internet died, Jared would totally mourn.

He tells Jensen this one day. Predictably, Jensen mocks him for it.

"I hate to break it to you, man, but the internet's cheating on you. With about a billion other people."

Jared pats his laptop. "We have an open relationship."

Jensen rolls his eyes and goes back to tossing a tennis ball from hand to hand. At his feet, Icarus clearly thinks this is the best game ever and watches the tennis ball with rapt delight. "Look, I get that the internet is cool but you can't be that much in love with it. There's so much weird shit on there."

Jared ruffles Jensen's hair and watches him make his usual scrunchy face of disapproval. "There's weird shit in here too and I still love you."

"It's gel, genius."

Jared shrugs. "I was talking about the weird shit in your brain but I guess the comparison works with your hair too." He wipes his gel-sticky hand on Jensen's shirt. "But the internet's awesome."

"For porn," Jensen fills in. He reconsiders. "And for booking flights and shit too, I guess, but mostly for porn. You probably shouldn't be so in love with your porn provider."

"It's not just porn," Jared says. True, it's surprisingly enjoyable to confirm that yes, his dick is bigger than the dicks of most pornstars, but his internet activities do include more than finding jerk-off material. "I play chess."

"God, don't remind me," Jensen says with a sigh. "Did you ever beat that girl you were playing against?"

'That girl' was an online chess player with the screenname "ATwelveYearOldGirl" who Jared had waged a chess-based war against during takes for the past four days. Unfortunately, it was equally disheartening to see the screen read "Congratulations, you just beat ATwelveYearOldGirl" or "Commiserations, you just lost to ATwelveYearOldGirl" and so Jared had decided to cut his losses.

"We called it a tie," he says breezily. He's eighty percent sure that ATwelveYearOldGirl was actually Genevieve because she's a) surprisingly awesome at chess and b) the kind of person who would enjoy making Jared doubt his moral integrity via online chess screennames, but he doesn't think Jensen needs to know this information. "Anyway, I do other stuff on the internet as well as playing chess and watching porn."

"Sending me links to things doesn't count," Jensen says, tossing the ball in the air and watching Icarus topple backwards like a flaily ball of fur as he tries to track its progress. "Scarring me for life is not a valid use of the internet."

Jared snorts. "Please. It is totally a valid use of the internet." He shrugs. "I don't know why you wouldn't want to see that stuff I send you anyway. Okay, it's weird but it's kinda cool."

"No, it's kinda cool for you," Jensen corrects. "You get to be a spy or a ninja or a crime-fighting dragon or something else awesome. I'm always a hooker."

"Aww, don't be like that, baby," Jared says with fake sympathy. "Sometimes you're a pregnant hooker."

Jensen stops throwing the ball long enough to punch him on the arm and Jared grins as Jensen mutters, "Scarred for life."

In all honesty, Jared knows Jensen could find equally disturbing things about him on the internet - their fans are very dedicated, although Jared's not sure what exactly they're dedicated to - but Jensen is allergic to those corners of the internet and so only gets the edited highlights of what Jared finds. Also, Jared's tireless searching for disturbing crap on the internet has led to him building up an immunity to most of what he finds, which makes Jensen's horrified reactions when he opens his emails that much more entertaining.

Jared doesn't pretend to be a good person.

On the ground, Icarus yips, demanding attention from his well-trained owner, and Jared watches as Jensen obliges by rolling the ball across to the little dog and then sliding down off the couch to offer praise and ear scritches when Icarus returns it happily. (The tennis ball doesn't actually fit in his mouth and so the returning process involves him nudging it across the carpet with his nose and then doing a little bouncy dance of doggy triumph when Jensen picks it up again but Jared has to give the little guy props for ingenuity.)

Satisfied that Jensen is occupied with attending to Icarus' every whim, Jared opens his laptop and retreats back into the loving embrace of the internet.

He may or may not consider sending Jensen some choice excerpts of dog porn.

 

+++

 

In hindsight, Jared should have seen it coming.

The course of true love never did run smooth, and after the glorious high-point of Google auto-predicting "Jared Padalecki workout" as opposed to "Jensen Ackles height", thus proving that the internet was most interested in Jared's body and Jensen's shortness respectively, it didn't take long for the relationship to end up on the rocks.

"Oh, God."

Staring in horror at the computer screen, Jared barely hears Jensen's question. "Who died?"

Jared blinks and shrivels a little inside when the picture doesn't magically disappear.

"My dignity," he says morosely before scrambling to his feet and holding the laptop screen in front of the make-up chair where Jensen is undergoing his daily freckle-camouflage routine. "Look! My penis is on the internet."

Jensen's gaze flickers to the screen for a second before he settles back in his chair, seemingly unconcerned. "Yep, definitely your penis."

Jared flounders. "I don't want it to be my penis!"

Jensen looks at the screen again and tilts his head. "Really? It looks pretty respectable to me, dude."

Jensen, Jared thinks, is a lot like a pony. He's entertaining and reliable and has big eyes and is fun to ride but sometimes you wave your hands at him and explain things and try to get him to follow along behind you, and he just stands there looking pretty and eating hay.

Similes aren't really Jared's strong point.

"The problem isn't the size, Jensen. The problem is that it's on the internet. Where people can see it," he adds, in case Jensen is being a particularly oblivious pony today.

Jensen frowns. "But you're wearing sweatpants. It's not like they can see the whole package."

"Thin sweatpants," Jared says, feeling a little light-headed. He wonders if Jensen has smelling salts. Jensen seems like the type of upstanding citizen who would have smelling salts. "Why did I go freeballing in front of a photographer in thin sweatpants?" He drops to a seat and tries not to hyperventilate. "I need to buy new underwear. Spaceman-underwear where nothing ever moves around. My dick is going to be vacuum packed from here on out."

"You have an internet ass-shrine," Jensen points out calmly. "You're really proud of the fact that you have an internet ass-shrine. Why is this a big deal?"

"Because," Jared says plaintively. "Because it is."

"And you send me links to porn all the time," Jensen continues. "You actively seek out internet dick discussion. Last week you printed out porn quotes about your dick and stuck them on the bathroom mirror. You love your dick."

"I love my fictional dick," Jared stresses. "My fictional dick is almost as hilarious as the things that fictional you says about my fictional dick. I don't want my real dick to come into play here."

Jensen's lips curve up in a sympathetic smile and Jared tries not to make his anxious pout so obvious when Jensen settles in beside him on the couch and types away on his laptop for a second. When he turns the screen back to face him, Jared frowns at the sight of a promo picture of Jensen leaning back on some stairs and staring intensely at the camera like he has deep, important feelings about these particular stairs. Or like he wants to get fucked on those particular stairs. It's always hard to tell with Jensen.

"What are-"

And then he sees it. It's right there in the center of the picture for all the internet to see and Jared doesn't know whether to be relieved, soothed, or frustrated with himself for not stumbling upon this prime source of mockery years earlier. What he does know is that he feels approximately a billion times better now that he knows Jensen has been in the same boat and he looks up from the computer to see Jensen watching him with a smile.

"See?" he says with that pleased little grin that he gets when he knows Jared is proud of him. "You're not the only one whose dick's ended up on the internet, and my parents haven't disowned me, I'm not out of a job, and the sky hasn't suddenly caved in. The world isn't gonna end because the internet found a picture of you hanging loose in some sweatpants." He leans in and kisses him fondly on the jaw. "Now calm the fuck down already."

Jared chuckles, letting the tension ebb away as he sinks back into the couch and feels Jensen lean in comfortably against his side. "I'm calm, I'm calm," he promises, dropping a kiss on the top of Jensen's head. "Sorry for the freak-out."

Jensen shrugs it off. "You thought the internet had broken up with you. You're allowed to freak out."

Jared elbows him. "Shut up." He taps a few keys and grins when the internet - the magical, wonderful internet which he will never get mad at again - brings up a picture of a twink-era Jensen wearing a black, sleeveless Superman shirt that stops mid-torso. Jensen groans and buries his head against Jared's shoulder, and Jared smiles wider as he teases, "Hot."

"I hate you," Jensen mutters against his neck. "I'm never making you feel better again."

Despite his protests, Jared feels him cuddle in closer as he reaches for the computer and says, "I guess if you're set on mocking my tragic past, I should help get it over with."

Jensen types something into Google and Jared tips his head back with a laugh when he sees the pictures of Jensen dressed in questionable pants and a beige sweater, and petting a horse in a manner which could only be described as sultry.

It's kind of like watching a car crash and Jared can't take his eyes off the screen as Jensen and the internet work together in beautiful harmony to bring up picture after picture of Jensen going for the camouflage approach in a pair of brick pants, Jensen looking like a bicurious boy-band member in a ribbed white hoodie, Jensen doing a windmill impression in a godawful kimono, and Jensen pulling angsty expressions while flailing around underwater in an inexplicable pink suit.

By the time Jeannie comes back in to corral them into the make-up chairs, they've worked their way through maybe a third of the photographic evidence of Jensen's shamefully twinky past and Jared's struggling to remember what he was even upset about in the first place.

Even though his cheeks are still pink from laughter and embarrassment, Jensen gives Jared a teasing wink as he heads back over to get his make-up done and Jared closes his laptop with a smile.

Jared really does love the internet. He just loves Jensen more.


End file.
